Adventure in Alcohol
by Buddy Williams
Summary: The day after Brewfest, a Paladin wakes up to a distinctly unpleasent surprise.


**Author's Note: **Alright, this is my first foray into WoW fanfiction, so expect crap. On the off chance that you like this story, or if you're interested in questing, I've got an Undead Rogue named Phineas on the Haomorush Server.

**Disclaimer**: WoW concepts such as the Horde, Alliance, Brewfest, Forsaken, the Holy Light, etc, etc, are not mine. The individual characters are OCs though, so they're mine, ALL MINE!!

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**Brewfest**

Slowly, ever so slowly, Edward Stryker, Paladin of the Holy Light, groggily opened his eyes. He was immediately struck with a blinding headache.

"Uggh, Brewfest be damned," he moaned, "I'm never drinking again."

His hazy brain dimly recollected the events of last night. He had shown up at Brewest – only to keep his friends in line! – then Dorik, that blasted dwarf, had gotten him drinking and everything was blurry from then on. There were some Horde… a helpless woman… a fight… he escorted her to the inn. With that thought, his cloudy mind suddenly registered his complete lack of clothing.

"By the Light, what have I done?" he whispered.

Sure enough, he could feel a body lying next to him. Edward buried his face in his hands. He had meant to help that woman, not take advantage of her! His actions had spit in the face of the Holy Code of discipline! The only thing to do, he decided, was to make up for his grave sin. He would wake her, explain the situation, profess his deepest apologies, and pray that she saw fit to let him make it up to her.

Turning to the right, Edward prepared to wake his mystery lover. She was certainly attractive, he noted. She had a wonderful figure; that much was immediately evident, even through the blanket that covered her. Her lips were curled into a mysterious smile, even while sleeping. Her hair was a wave of deep violet that was cropped short around her neck. Her skin was a cold grey pallor… her fingers were bone-like claws… her exposed elbow bones…

Edward blinked.

Lying in bed next to him was a stark naked forsaken. At this point, Edward did what any Paladin in his situation would do: he leaned over and vomited all over the floor. Unfortunately for Edward, his sudden retching woke the forsaken. Seeing her stirring, he jerked awkwardly away, falling off the bed and scrambling backwards across the floor until his back hit the floor. As he watched warily, the forsaken cracked open her eyes, only to immediately shut them and hold a clawed hand to her head, muttering in Gutterspeak.

Edward seized the opportunity and quickly glanced around the room, searching for his war hammer. Not seeing it, he did the next best thing and hurriedly grabbed his pants. Hearing the commotion he was making, the forsaken again opened her eyes, this time registering Edward's presence. She looked at him, at the bed, back to him, at the clothes strewn across the floor, back to him, down at herself, then back to him. She blinked. Finally, a very, very, very large grin began to form on her face.

"So," she said in perfect Common, "Was it good for you too?"

Edward nearly threw up again.

"B-by the Light," he stammered. "I… you… we…" Edward had only cried three times in his life. Once when his mother died when he was very young, once when the Light had first entered him in all its beauty and majesty, and once when he had stubbed his toe really, really badly against a wooden chair leg. But now, unable to even wrap his mind around what he had done, Edward Stryker broke down and wept. He wept for his station, for the Order of the Silver Hand would certainly condemn this unspeakable sin. He wept for his honor, shattered by the horrible perversion he had engaged in. But most of all, he wept for his immortal soul, for there was no way the Light would look with favor on so vile a creature as he.

Sylvia Hastan had woken up to a pounding headache and a fuzzy recollection of an extremely entertaining dream. Something about an incredibly drunk human mistaking her for a damsel in distress surrounded by Horde hooligans, a fight, one thing leading to another… However, when she realized that it had not been a dream, and that the human was still there, she was tickled pink, as her grandmother used to say. It wasn't until the human broke down into a sobbing, quivering mess that her happiness ran dry. She had half a mind to simply throw on some clothes and walk out. But then again, he looked so pathetic curled up on the floor in a puddle of his own vomit, bawling his eyes out. If her heart was still in her chest cavity, it would have gone out to him.

So, tossing on her underwear, Sylvia gently approached the human.

"Hey," she said in common, "Look, I know you think I'm disgusting, but come on, you have to admit that in a couple of months, this is just going to be a funny story."

"…You don't understand…," the human managed between sobs, "I... they... they'll... you just don't understand."

She rolled her eyes, "Okay, now you're starting to offend me. This isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Hell, I'd bet no human girl would do what we did last night. I bet none of them even could."

"No!" the human wailed, "It is the worst thing that's ever happened; it is the worst thing in my life!"

After sniffling a few times, he finally croaked out, "I don't expect your kind to understand the gravity of what has happened here. Suffice to say that if you have a shred of mercy left in you, you will kill me now and save others the trouble."

Sylvia blinked. This human was obviously deeply traumatized and wasn't going to lighten up any time soon. The only thing to do at this point would be to try and reason with him.

"Alright then, if I don't understand, why don't you explain it to me." she said.

"You can't possibly understand," the human muttered.

"I wasn't asking you," she said firmly.

The human looked up and locked eyes with her for a brief instant, then quickly turned his head.

"Very well," he said, "I am a Paladin; a sworn defender of the Holy Light and a member of the Silver Hand. I swore an oath with the Light as my witness to fight the shadow and evil of Azeroth unceasingly and to uphold the virtuous code of discipline that every Paladin submits too. Now, not only have I deliberately avoided my duty to destroy each and every one of you abominations to the Light, I have… I have…" At this he broke down weeping once more.

Sylvia nodded, "Alright, I only have one question to ask you."

The human looked up.

"What's your name?"

Edward stared at the forsaken woman before him. She was an abomination, an unholy monster, an affront to all things good and decent. Or so he had been told. Yet, here he was, on the ground, lost in his misery, and she was actually trying to pull him out of his depression. He shook his head.

"Edward."

"What?"

"My name. Edward Stryker."

"Well, Edward Stryker," the forsaken said extending a hand in his direction, "I'm Sylvia Hastan."

Edward stared at the hand.

"_You're supposed to shake it_," she whispered.

Numbly, Edward reached out and shook her hand. He was expecting it to be ice cold and disgusting to the touch. Instead, the hand he gripped was cool and firm, almost like light, thin leather.

"Now that introductions have been taken care of, I think I may have the solution to your problem," She said.

"What?" Edward asked.

How? His problem was insurmountable, inescapable, unspeakable! You didn't just solve it!

"All you have to do," she continued, "Is never ever tell anyone about what happened last night."

Edward was struck dumb. The sheer audacity of it! Lying to the faces of his superiors, flagrantly breaching the Holy Code, acting as if none of this had ever happened!

"T-that's abominable!" He stammered, "I can't just lie to my superior's face!"

"Good," Sylvia grinned, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, "'cause I was planning on telling _everyone_ about this!"

He stared at her flatly.

"Okay, okay, that was in poor taste," she grumbled, "But seriously, if that doesn't work, you could protest that you weren't in your right mind at the time."

That sounded a bit more feasible.

"It couldn't be that easy," he muttered.

"Sure it could," She cheered, "Seriously, can you really hold someone accountable for the decisions they make while drunk? And trust me, you were really, really drunk."

"I… suppose not," he concluded.

All he would have to do would be to tell his superior's of what had happened, let them know of his altered state of mind, assure them that he would never touch a drink again, and perform the required penance. Yet, as he looked at Sylvia again, he realized one single, horrifying truth. He wasn't completely repulsed by her. In a strange, twisted, tragic, and utterly wrong way, she was rather attractive. Her body wasn't covered in decomposing sores; her exposed elbow joint and a gash that went straight to the bone in her right thigh were the worst things he could see. Her glowing eyes and grey skin weren't off-putting, after all, men had courted purple-skinned glowing-eyed night elves before. This realization, this horrible, horrible realization, drove Edward into a fresh state of weeping.

Sylvia was exasperated. She had seemed to be making progress with this Edward fellow, and suddenly he had broken down crying again for no apparent reason. Sometimes the living were just too emotional for their own good.

"Oh, come on! Didn't I just solve your problem? All you have to do is tell them that you would never do what you did while sober; that you aren't attracted to me in the least."

Edward didn't answer.

"You aren't attracted to me in the least, right?"

Edward still didn't answer.

"…Oh."

Sylvia simply stared. A living being. A human. Found her attractive. Found _her_ attractive. Her. An undead monster. A sick, disgusting, undead monster. And he found her attractive.

"But… but I…" she trailed off.

Sylvia was surprised beyond being surprised. She was flabbergasted, dumbstruck, and amazed all at the same time. When she had awoken from the cold embrace of death, she had thought that any possibility of ever being romantically involved with anyone ever again had died with her. Now, here she was with a human, a handsome human, telling her that there was a tiny, so tiny you had to squint and tilt your head just right to see it, but there all the same, possibility of something beyond a drunken fling for her and a lifetime of psychological counseling and illegal drugs for him.

Edward looked up at her, his eyes still moist, "You have no idea how much I hate myself for thinking it, but you are neither repulsive, nor disgusting."

"T-that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," she sniffed.

He merely returned to slipping ever deeper into a well of depression. All Sylvia could do was watch.

Edward stared at his hands without seeing them. Mentally, he was in anguish. In one single day, he had committed an abomination so awful, that to try and describe it with words was to do it a disservice. He was still reeling with the repercussions of that. But there was some hope of salvation; after all, he hadn't been in a proper state of mind, he couldn't be held totally accountable for what had happened. Then the realization had come, and he realized what he truly was. He was a monster. A sick disgusting monster. Light damn him, he didn't deserve to live.

He looked up with abject depression at Sylvia. Funny, he had never thought of the undead as having names. He had never thought of them as people either. He had learned from an early age that they were Light-cursed beings, perversions of the highest degree; that even their mere existence was an affront to the Light and all it stood for. And yet, here was Sylvia, a witty, jovial undead who had even attempted to make him feel better. The contradiction was making his head hurt. Who was to be believed, the Order of the Silver Hand, or this forsaken woman?

Out of the blue, Edward remembered something a gnome warlock had told him a long time ago when he had reacted with outrage over the man's affinity for the dark arts, _"Ed, if someone tells you something that is later contradicted by reality, bet on reality being right."_

Suddenly, everything became crystal clear. With a sudden resolve, Edward stood up and offered the sitting woman a hand. She stared at him in surprise.

"I've reached a decision," he announced.

"Oh?" she asked, taking his hand and rising from the floor.

"First," he said, "we are going to get dressed. Then, we are going to walk out that door and have breakfast together. We're going to talk about our interests and get to know each other better. We may decide to take a walk, or possibly go to the small theater. All in all, we're going to give this a chance and see where it goes."

"Be still my heart!" Sylvia exclaimed, "Well, er, I mean, more so than usual, that is."

Edward chuckled, but quickly broke down into great big belly laughs. He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his soul.

"But, wait," Sylvia said, "What about your Paladin buddies? I thought they'd be out for your blood for this?"

"Oh, didn't you hear?" Edward asked, "Sir Edward Stryker was killed in combat by a cunning and deadly undead warrior woman."

Sylvia twisted her features into an exaggerated look of despair, "Oh, poor, brave Sir Edward, I'm sure he will be remembered as a hero for his heroic demise."

Edward laughed once again; this woman was a regular jester!

"Well, Sylvia" Edward said as he opened the door, "I think this is the beginning of a horrifying relationship."

Sylvia smiled sweetly, "We're a match made in hell, darling." The two left the room, one walking, and the other skipping lightly. The door was closed behind them, and that was that.

The End

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**Endnote**: Wrong? Yes. Disgusting? Yes.


End file.
